


Wearing Thin

by prototyping



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Action, Gen, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fic, friendship falling apart basically, genfic, huge jumps in the canon timeline make that debatable tbh, platonic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7871500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unfortunately Eraqus, who had always been admirably sharp and quick-witted in their youth, was backsliding a little more each year into that deep pit which began with the precepts and ended with his own stubborn absolutes. Time, in that regard, had not been kind to him.</p><p>[Xehanort, Eraqus. Project fic for the KH Worlds Connected 2016 fanzine.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wearing Thin

_Something_ wasn’t right.

The idea was odd more than it was worrisome. This was a small world with an even smaller population and an idea of privacy that was up for debate; very little transpired without Xehanort’s knowledge firsthand. On those rare occasions that something did, he was never far behind on information, whether thanks to his own intuition or Eraqus going out of his way to update him. In their younger years, particularly, much news had come from the latter: Eraqus interrupting him in the library, excited and eager to share, or dropping hints during training and promising to elaborate if Xehanort could best him.

It was never anything he couldn’t have learned by going to their Master directly, of course -- Eraqus was only ever tight-lipped on sensitive Successor matters -- but in those days the teasing and the challenges were worth the delay, adding some gratification to what was often a trickling influx of new information on the Outside.

Even had that playfulness carried the last half century into their adult years, however, it was clear Eraqus wasn’t presently making a sport of whatever troubled him. The look in his eyes suggested heavy thoughts; his reliance on plain, brute force over clever twists of magic here and there said those thoughts were divided; and the way he suddenly favored defense and fallbacks hinted that his heart wasn’t quite in it.

Strange, considering he had been the one to suggest this sparring match, but Xehanort recognized all those telltale hints without any doubt. His old friend had something on his mind and for once he wasn’t quick to share it.

Those hints manifested within minutes of the match starting, but neither of them voiced the obvious. Their back-and-forthing went as it often had through the decades, if with more poise and patience and less commentary than in their youth: heavy strikes and swift strokes that held little back with each trusting the other to avoid them, occasionally a narrow parry, but mostly an interwoven exchange of quick blows and movements that an observer might mistake for having been rehearsed.

Refined over time, but fundamentally unchanged by it. Their setting was even more static, with the same whitewashed stones making up the plaza laid -- purportedly, their Master had joked, since he wasn’t old enough to guarantee it -- at the same time of the castle’s foundation. The castle itself stood as tall as ever and the spring weather was much the same as it was every year in these mountains, cool and clear and serving well for an active afternoon.

The Land of Departure was well-preserved in its prime, much as it had been decades ago.

The sounds, however, were different. Any and all clashing steel would be virtually identical to anyone unfamiliar with the tones and pitches that blades of different widths and lengths and makes could produce. To Xehanort, and to Eraqus as well without a doubt, and to the land that had known them since they first picked up their Keyblades, the ringing of their mock battle held little resemblance to those in their early days. The sounds were heavier now, more frequent, precise. Much like their wielders, the Keyblades themselves had changed over the years, replaced by legacies from a forgotten time. Notably, this was the first instance in which these particular blades had met in combat, mock or otherwise.

Patient though Xehanort was and as much as he appreciated the almost-silence, he was equally curious about Eraqus’ behavior, more so the longer the delay stretched on. So the next time they clashed, he didn’t knock Eraqus’ blade aside, but angled his own to catch it and lock them in a firm stalemate. Standing eye-to-eye, Xehanort gave him a casual but knowing look.

“You seem unsettled.”

The standoff held for a few moments more, as did their stare, but then Eraqus was the one to break both. The tension in his Keyblade let up an instant before he visibly relaxed himself, stepping back with a too-thin smile that would have fooled just about anybody else. “Perhaps so. I suppose I’m beyond the age where all concerns can be solved with a Keyblade.”

With a deep hum Xehanort drew his own weapon back to his side, where it remained in hand. Training had indeed served as an outlet many times, but he had the feeling that wasn’t the case here. Not entirely. “If you remember those days, I assume you also recall that our talks have never required a precursor before now. What’s so troubling that you felt obligated to wear me down before sharing?”

It prompted a chuckle, and that much seemed genuine. “This is for your good as well as mine. When was the last time you ventured outside the castle?” Eraqus resumed his starting stance, both hands on his hilt and feet planted squarely apart.

“And when was the last time you returned to it?” Xehanort countered casually. “Regardless of our lack of forces, the lord of the castle is just that.”

Eraqus resumed their exchange with a quick but predictable approach. Xehanort promptly parried the swing, redirected it, and forced the younger man several steps to the side. There was a glaring opening there, a potentially crippling one in a true fight, but Eraqus was above such oversight. Either he was keeping things light, or his casual start belied that he had been prepared to react. Whatever the case, Xehanort didn’t take the opportunity.

“Or do you still seek potentials?” he wondered.

As Eraqus gathered his bearings, he frowned. “Not actively, but my eyes are always open.” He approached once more and a number of glancing blows were traded. The topic appeared to be over, but when their blades locked again he inquired, “And yourself? Considering all your travels until recently, you’ve found no prospects?”

There was nothing in his tone to suggest skepticism -- on the contrary, it sounded genuinely and harmlessly curious -- but the way his weight shifted a little more onto his weapon was telling. And yet, it was highly unlikely that he was offended by Xehanort’s equal lack of contribution in that regard… No, if there was irritation in that remark, it came from another source.

By process of elimination, it was easy to deduce what that most likely was, but Xehanort kept to the surface topic. “Unfortunately not.” In a blur he disengaged their blades, reversing his grip at the end of his upswing to bring it back down with a bit more strength than he had bothered exuding thus far. Eraqus had to jerk backwards to avoid it, but recovered instantly and stepped back in with a hard vertical strike; Xehanort rotated his grip again, this time with a hard twist of his wrist so that he intercepted the swing and snagged the shaft of Master’s Defender with his Keyblade’s bit. It gave him enough leverage that his one arm could contend with Eraqus’ two, and enough control to force both blades into a wide swing and detach them once more at the end of it.

“Although,” Xehanort added thoughtfully, “I believe we might see things differently when it comes to a prospect’s qualifications.”

“Do you, now?” There was a brief pause as they regarded one another from neutral stances -- and then again Eraqus was first to act, attacking with a flurry of movements that were parried just as swiftly as they were thrown. At the next break, he asked, “As long as one displays the potential, what else is there to consider?”

 _Plenty_ was Xehanort’s first thought. _Suitability_ was the second. He only replied, “Surely you know potential and strong hearts mean little without the correct frame of mind behind them. The older the individual, the more difficult this quality is to find.”

Eraqus actually cocked an eyebrow, his posture relaxing slightly. He even cracked a puzzled smile. “You’re suggesting children? I’m surprised. I thought you weren’t fond of them.”

“Hmph.” It was a dismissive sound. “It is difficult to dislike something you know little about.” That was mostly a lie. Xehanort’s interactions with children were indeed few and far in between, but they were simple enough creatures. Their hearts and minds worked like anyone else's, save they were more malleable, easily impressionable in their innocence and simple-minded view of life. He neither favored nor dismissed them; and while he rarely entertained the idea of becoming a teacher, he had always been certain that he would not waste his time with anyone old enough to be already set in their ways.

Most importantly, he would want a pupil whose view of the World wasn’t skewed by the traditions of the precepts. A pupil who resembled Eraqus as little as possible.

And that was why, should he come across such a candidate, he might well change his mind on the matter; but as it stood he had no reason to seek one out, and even less reason to send any prospective wielders to Eraqus. The bias of their Master ran wide and deep enough already.

Again their blades met. “If not an apprentice,” grunted Eraqus, his wear beginning to show under the strain of a blocked overhead strike, “then where do your travels take you these days?”

As they parted, Xehanort only gave a light smile. “Rarely the same place twice. The World is vast.”

Eraqus’ eyes frowned more than his mouth, a subtle look that few besides Xehanort would have been able to catch, much less recognize. “Indeed,” he agreed. “But no word of threats has reached us in quite a while -- fortunately,” he added. “But you bend the rules as always, journeying about regardless.” That didn’t come off as an accusation, necessarily. While grim, there was a hint of amusement in Eraqus’ face nonetheless. Thinking of old times, most likely. “I had thought your sense of adventure would curb itself with age.”

“Not adventure,” Xehanort corrected. “Curiosity.” He moved first this time, quickly and without warning. Once more the sound of steel replaced voices; but then catching the last swing and forcing their weapons to the side, Eraqus locked onto his friend’s face with a humorless look.

“Concerning what?”

Now he was almost being straightforward.

Guessing his concern was a simple matter. Although travel was prohibited unless duty required it, their Master hadn’t been terribly strict on upholding the rule once his students reached adulthood. Their judgment was trusted, and if every once in awhile they had the free time and the desire, he wouldn’t forbid them from spending the afternoon away from this world. Following his example, Eraqus had never spoken against Xehanort leaving on occasion -- even when Xehanort obviously took advantage of their Master’s absence to push the rule more frequently than before.

But that patience had a limit, it seemed.

Again, Xehanort responded with a disarming smile.

And then he wrenched his Keyblade in a sharp, downward arc, forcing both their weapons against the stone ground in yet another impasse. It forced Eraqus’ dominant knee to bend as he fought to keep his grip, putting him a head lower than Xehanort -- who maintained his pleasant, neutral air despite the sudden strength he had put forth.

“Why, anything I don’t already know, of course.”

Eraqus’ expression turned almost dark. Grunting under his breath, he twisted his Keyblade free and hurriedly stepped back, but Xehanort made a swift swing -- at the same time that he finally put his left hand to use, throwing out a close-ranged Blizzaga. There was surprise in Eraqus’ eyes as well as his hasty movement: it was rare for him to wield one-handed, but right then he made an exception and freed his right to conjure a swift Barrier. It was only partial -- a quarter of the size, a third of the shape -- but it was enough to narrowly deflect the spell. The whistling shards of ice slammed into the nearby archway instead, shattering on contact with a grating shriek.

Eraqus’ adaptive reflexes didn’t end at defense: he responded with a counter-blow, still one-handed, that Xehanort was forced to avoid by actually moving this time. A sidestep was sufficient, but he took it into a full turn and swung again -- intentionally short, his Keyblade striking the ground before Eraqus’ feet. A flash was the only warning before more ice erupted upward in a contained mess of sharp angles -- but Eraqus was already moving, sliding around to his left in a low crouch to effectively put himself at Xehanort’s back. When Xehanort turned around a half-second later, Eraqus was already launching forward with a backhanded slash.

It was blocked, turned aside, but Eraqus had evidently thought ahead a couple steps. Rather than stumbling, he went into the motion smoothly and turned with a skilled shift of his weight that kept both feet on the ground. The backhand grip from before remained, allowing him to swiftly plant the tip of his Keyblade in the grass and rake the entire weapon forward in a hard sweep. The slash rent the earth, jagged arms of stone breaking the surface at the end of the swing.

Xehanort didn’t dodge. Again his free hand moved, a blur as he waved a silent spell into being, and pitch-black lightning crackled outward from the motion. Thick bolts struck the attacking stalagmites in a thundering sound of splitting stone. Dust and debris instantly filled the air, essentially blinding them both, but Xehanort didn’t need his eyes to pinpoint the other man’s location. Eraqus’ light was too bright for any darkness.

He was equally certain that Eraqus was too honorable to use the presumed invisibility for a surprise attack. Xehanort merely waited, his weapon back at his side. When the dust finally cleared he found Eraqus in the same relaxed position, either wise or too trusting.

Probably a bit of both, like always.

Each held the other’s gaze for a few moments. This was the first in a long time that Xehanort had seen Eraqus so worked up -- not obviously, at least not to anybody else, but the hardness in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. This was the first in a long time that he -- that _either_ of them had exerted significant force against one another.

Eraqus’ thoughts were clear, even if his reasoning was not. Xehanort didn’t have to wait long.

“It isn’t my intention to interrogate, Xehanort.” Eraqus gave a short, tired sigh as he shook his head. “But the balance has been stable of late, and yet… whenever you’re able to pull yourself from the library, you travel more now than we did in worse times. What is it you seek?” The question was firm without being harsh -- intent, but respectful. “You know that if it’s within my power to assist, you have only to ask. What information beyond our borders could be so useful to you?”

Ah, Eraqus. For one so faithful to the creed of the Masters -- to serve and protect the World -- he overlooked the bigger picture. His loyal gaze was fixed too rigidly on this land as though the World revolved around it, rather than the opposite.

“You may be surprised,” Xehanort remarked, glancing nonchalantly aside. “Even a king does not know all the thoughts and affairs of his subjects. How much less so for us -- we who guard the rest of the World from our small corner.”

“We cannot compare ourselves to kings, Xehanort.” Eraqus’ tone gained an edge. Not aggressive, but disapproving. “It is our duty to safeguard the light -- not our right to know all that occurs within it.”

“Not a right, perhaps, but a privilege. The precepts forbid unnecessary travel for fear of upsetting the balance -- I know them well, Eraqus. Just as well as you,” Xehanort reminded him coolly. “And nowhere do they claim we must suffer ignorance for our service… although the original Masters may well have included it, had they thought of it.”

Catching the sarcasm, Eraqus frowned again and there was nothing subtle about the look this time. “You would disrespect the edicts of our predecessors?”

“They were only human, like you and I. Humans make mistakes. They give readily into fear. They assume the worst of others in light of their own weaknesses. Just as _you_ assume too much, old friend, in thinking the wisdom of our forbearers was without fault.”

“They were not perfect,” Eraqus conceded; “nobody is. But they had reasons for the laws they chose -- including those that forbid traveling in the Lanes without armor.”

 _There_ it was.

Xehanort’s idle gaze suddenly turned to meet his friend’s, sharp with clarity but otherwise unfazed. Silence followed for several heartbeats as they regarded one another -- and then it was Xehanort who finally broke it this time, not with words, but the high metallic note of his Keyblade disappearing. He joined his hands behind his back, the last hint of his alert posture giving way to one casual and at ease.

“And from what knowledge did they issue such a mandate?” he challenged lightly. “The ghost stories we were told as children -- rumors of wielders gone missing in that other realm? Or from personal experience?” Turning aside, he let his eyes wander to the mountains in the distance. For the first time in days, no thunderclouds loomed over the surrounding peaks. With battle forbidden inside the castle -- except in the form of the Exam -- this break in the recent rain had quite the fortunate timing.

Or, as was more likely, Eraqus had pushed for this match while the opportunity for confrontation lasted. “If the latter,” Xehanort continued, “this was only another decree born from fear, for only those who fear the Darkness in the Lanes risk losing themselves to it.”

“How long?” The question was sharp. Angry. “How long have you traveled without protection from the Darkness?”

For a long moment Xehanort didn’t respond. “...Long enough,” he said at last, his voice dropping an octave to one with more weight, “to recognize that what the precepts ordained to be _protection_ is no more than paranoia passed down from one content generation to the next.” Ignorant assumptions, he would even be so bold to say. Ideals long outdated, established in a wounded, too-cautious era that had long overstayed its welcome.

_“Xehanort--”_

“Have you never questioned them?” Xehanort glanced back over his shoulder. “Even you cannot honestly tell me you’ve never wondered about the legitimacy of these laws.”

“I have,” said Eraqus flatly. “But I was young and foolish once. We both were. And we have since had decades to outgrow those naive impulses.”

“Naive?” Turning around fully, Xehanort eyed him with a look that was equal parts skepticism and grim amusement. “On the contrary, Eraqus. From the youngest age we are warned by our guardians against certain dangers. Not until we grow older and wiser do we comprehend why they were dangerous -- and by that time we have outgrown the ignorance that put us in danger to begin with.” And few things, if any, vexed Xehanort as offensively as the impediment of ignorance. Unfortunately Eraqus, who had always been admirably sharp and quick-witted in their youth, was backsliding a little more each year into that deep pit which began with the precepts and ended with his own stubborn absolutes. Time, in that regard, had not been kind to him.

The uncertain, unconvinced expression he wore now was testament to it. “What are you thinking, Xehanort?” Gone was the tension, the anger, the authority from before. It left him sounding concerned, almost solemn -- a tone he hadn’t used in many, many years. “You’re too wise to be rash… but traveling unprotected, seeking knowledge you won’t explain -- and now criticizing the precepts?” He gave a minute shake of his head, never breaking eye contact. “By themselves, I would overlook such oddities, but… together, surely you realize how this looks.”

“Suspicious,” Xehanort admitted. “Enough that you would attempt to push me in battle -- to what end, I wonder? To see if I have truly changed? Or is there something else inside me that you expect to find?”

Eyes thinning, Eraqus looked away after a couple beats. “...No.” It was a quiet response -- spoken as though half to himself, if not entirely. “I only seek answers. Nothing more.” It may have been a coincidence, it may have not, but he finally dismissed his Keyblade, as well.

Xehanort gave a quiet grunt of a laugh. “He chose well. His Successor.” It was a neutral comment, his tone betraying neither insult nor compliment.

“I don’t ask these things as Successor,” said Eraqus promptly. “I’m asking you as a friend.”

Friend.

It had been obvious long before now that Eraqus was too much like their Master. The more Xehanort’s way of thinking had changed through the years, the more convinced he became that he and Eraqus would never see eye-to-eye where it truly mattered -- and yet there had been, still was, a part of him that wanted to _try_ nonetheless. He would gladly pass on knowledge for nothing more than knowledge’s sake, but in this instance there was almost something like an obligation there -- to attempt, at least, to keep his one lifelong friend through their differences. And he would make that effort, certainly, if it came to that -- and he was positive that it would. Eraqus might have been blinded by that bright light of his, but he was not a total fool; this conversation would not go ignored. He would be forced to act sooner or later, and like Xehanort he would most certainly find his two obligations -- to duty and to friendship -- in conflict within himself.

And like Xehanort, it was already obvious which of those would ultimately take precedence.

_Unfortunate._

But the question had been asked, and Xehanort respected him too much to outright ignore him. The man had also earned a more direct answer than what he had been given so far, he supposed. So while Xehanort moved as if to pass right by, he stopped once he drew even with him. For a moment he stared up at the castle, tall and bright and unchanged.

“You have it wrong in a few ways,” he said. “You speak of light as though it is undisputed. At its roots, it was light that caused the Great War, was it not? And contrary to your accusations,” he added quickly, sensing an objection, “I do not dismiss history. I merely question the way in which it has been handed down.” Looking sidelong at Eraqus, he met his gaze and found a shadow of uncertainty there -- perhaps even reluctance. Denial, or something close.

“You asked what it is I seek,” Xehanort continued, looking ahead once more. “What I always seek, Eraqus. Answers.”

Direct, though perhaps not ideal. He didn’t wait for a response before making for the castle stairs, leaving Eraqus to himself and his thoughts.

And Eraqus remained there for a while. Moving to the edge of the plaza, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared out across the mountain range with what was beginning to feel like a permanent frown.

Thinking, remembering, guessing, worrying. He had done much of each lately, always ending in a mess of fearful uncertainty and guilt. For the longest time he had told himself that he was overthinking things -- that the increased silence on the grounds and the weight of responsibility were getting to him -- but as he had told Xehanort openly, he could ignore one or two oddities. Not a trail of them.

Xehanort was different, changed in the many years between their first meeting and today. That much Eraqus couldn’t deny. Thinking back, it had seemed most obvious around the time he was gifted with the ancient Keyblade; that was when his studious habits had escalated into something closer to obsession. But Xehanort had always been one for history and books, and Eraqus had dismissed the thought.

But now…

He sighed quietly. His frustration stemmed more from concern than anything else. The two of them had grown up together beneath the same roof, the same Master… so why did Xehanort appear to be wandering off the path? He had seemed unfazed when passed over as Successor, had never gone out of his way to speak favorably of the role, so that surely wasn’t the source. The last decade had revealed an obvious disinterest towards taking pupils under his wing, but he answered the call of duty just as quickly as Eraqus did, when required.

It felt as though Xehanort was still invested in being a Keyblade Master, but suddenly dismissive of the textbook rules and responsibilities they had been assigned.

 _And for what?_ Eraqus wondered. If he had little interest in serving in the line of Masters, what more was there to be gained in old books and world-wandering? Especially at his age?

He turned back towards the castle, looking up at its gold spires. _...That depends on what books and worlds are in question._

Far be it from him to do something as distrustful as _follow_ Xehanort, but it seemed he would be getting no answers directly.

_‘You speak of light as though it is undisputed. At its roots, it was light that caused the Great War, was it not?’_

That had been an odd point to make. Rather than refuting Eraqus’ implications, Xehanort had not only questioned their teachings, but also brought up an old topic, a favorite topic of his. The War. He hadn’t spoken of it in a long time, but he always was fascinated by the stories in his youth. He appeared to have lost interest somewhere between then and now, but… in light of today, Eraqus wondered.

His arms fell away as he sighed again, quietly. It would be simple enough to determine what books had been disturbed recently; considering Xehanort used the library almost exclusively, it all but belonged to him now, and he’d always been in the habit of making his claim on a space obvious. If Eraqus looked in the right place, he was certain, he would find a pile of books and notes on whatever it was that held Xehanort’s attention these days.

It would be easy.

But that didn’t mean it was right.

* * *

_“Is it possible to succeed without any act of betrayal?”_  



End file.
